You know, like “a genie in a bottle” type shit. The genie grants your wish, but in a way that you never expected nor in a way you even wanted, to the point that it makes you wish you were never given the opportunity to make wishes. It reminds me of that movie, “Bedazzled”, with Elizabeth Hurley and Brendan Frasier.

I was never granted wishes from a genie inside of a bottle but I definitely was given many talents which extended not only to the physical, but also to the spiritual and intellectual parts of my person. All of these seemingly wonderful attributes, turned out each to be a double-edged sword. Each of my “blessings” were also “curses”.

I did use my talents, they were certainly not wasted. But so far, they have only been used, specifically, to keep me alive on more than one occasion. Other people could also have not been robbed or worse, if they had listened to my advice. My intelligence allowed me to manipulate others with ease, and my external beauty helped that endeavor.

I did not realize until my mid-twenties that manipulation tactics are not good for one’s own karmic debt, but when you’re homeless for ten years…you do what you have to do to survive.

Speaking of being homeless (and on hard drugs) for over a decade, if it weren’t for my acute sixth sense, the chances are likely I would have met my death in the same violent way as many of my peers.

During those days, my intelligence was radiant just as it is, presently. And, I crave that acknowledgement, just like anyone else does. I enjoy praise. I love to love and I love to be loved.

Unfortunately, each of my talents, including my intelligence, have also been a fortuitous reminder of my own destruction.

The favorite of all of my talents, is going to be the death of me, via alcohol….I can read people and I can do it well.

I do not mean that I can read their thoughts, though, sometimes I can. What I mean is that I am able to pick up very easily on the most subtle changes and differences in a person’s vernacular, both verbal and bodily. I can tune into and sometimes actually feel these nuances without even having to know a person, or even be near them. I can be overcome with these feelings over a phone call, or a dream.

I know when the cashier at the corner-store is sad, I know when my kids are lying to me, I feel shame knowing what most people say behind my back. I know when anyone is lying to me, and if I don’t, it’s because I am not acknowledging it. Sometimes, I suck at acknowledging shit….especially if it causes shame. I HATE SHAME, and it is probably my most frequently endured feeling.

Many times….MOST TIMES… I would rather not even know the ugly shit people are up to… but I get no choice in the matter. Hence, my reclusive nature….

The “bodily vernacular”, as I like to call it, actually speaks much louder than anything produced from vocal chords. Humans totally give away their motives and intentions, whether good or bad, with their swag, whether good or bad.

Everyone has swag. It is true that most do not possess ‘dope’ swag, that’s for sure. I am very fortunate to be one who definitely has dope swag and I am very known for it, especially when I walk. Every human has the potential for swag, the ability is there, but I believe that over time, like a battery that becomes corroded, a person’s swag can become corroded with lies, deceit and treachery.

Low self-esteem and self-deprecation are also swag-killers.

The swag becomes less dope and more of a mope, and that’s a shame because SWAG IS A GIFT.

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I feel creative energy jingling my private parts.
I like to write and I also hate to write. I am getting over hating it now that I am starting to understand that I was lied to as a child and I actually do possess a brain that functions, as well as a pretty fair amount of other desirable traits.
My own acceptation of the inherent knowledge and talent I possess took a long time for me to understand and believe. I'm still not there yet, and neither are my writing skills. However, I heard many years ago, from a source which I cannot recall, that one can not expect to improve upon something which one does not practice.
Let the practice begin!
I AM:
Charming, witty, funny, dreamy, screamy, honest, angelic, demonic, intuitive, fanciful, over-reactive, angry, sweet, ex-dope fiend, petulant, unsane, genius, idiotic, truthful to a fault, eiditic memory, beautiful, sad, melancholy, aloof, clingy, maniacal, suicidal, dancing, old-fashioned, fuckin weird, sesquipedalian, exuberant, anxious, bipolar, fertile yet sterile, ambiguous, impulsive, impetuous, artistic, conspiracy enthusiast, moody, non-trusting, musical, flighty, drinks like a machine, fear of rejection, prone to isolation, fearless, fearful, analytical, conservative yet liberal, irrational, enigmatic, low self-esteem projecting high self-esteem, positivity cheerleader for others, worried yet carelessly optimistic, sexy, sometimes argumentative, mentalist, book-lover, procrastinator, initiate, loving, people-watcher, people-pleaser, numb, first-class twerker, major depressive, feelings denier, possibly some kind of schizo, definitely borderline, possibly bipolar, drawn to the esoteric like a moth to a flame, ferocious, tender, mother, fierce, strong yet so very weak, prone to addictions, mediator and meditator, introvert, healer, lover and a fucking fighter....a paradox personified.

I lived with and was married to a female malignant narcissist for 12 years who has BPD and HPD. I endured significant trauma, gas lighting, degrading comments and was left feeling worthless. Now I'm out, living with C-PTSD and watching my kids be treated like textbook Golden Child and Scapegoat children. My daily struggle to get them the hell away from her claws. Have questions, comments, advice? Ask, tell, share. I am here to recover.